


Patience

by battle_cat



Series: Together [11]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Frottage, Morning Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7758874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning sex and teasing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> Based on ghostjogging's wonderful smutty art.

She's awake as soon as the first colorless morning light filters in through her window. Waking up at dawn is a habit she hasn't been able to break.

Max is asleep on his stomach next to her, his face mostly hidden in the pillow and one broad palm spread warm across her ribs. The dawn light illuminates the dark lines of writing scored upside-down into his back, but his breathing is calm and easy.

She stretches out a leg under the blanket, careful not to move enough to wake him. Her muscles feel relaxed and heavy, and she’s still a bit sticky and sore from last night’s fucking. But it’s a pleasant soreness, like the ache the day after a hard workout, stirring warm memories of last night.

They’d started out simply washing each other after a long, sweaty day taking apart the hydraulics on a windmill that kept jamming. But washing had led to tickling, which had led to wrestling, which had led to Max pinning her down on the bed and licking her into a writhing, whimpering mess. When he’d slid inside her she’d only wanted harder, deeper, closer. His kisses had left her own fluids smeared all over her face and neck. 

Afterward he’d brought over the water pitcher and cloth to wipe both of them clean, and then she’d been cold so he’d helped her tug heavy limbs into her sleep clothes and tucked the blanket and his body around her, a steady wall of heat at her back.

It’s been thirty-seven days since Max came back to the Citadel with a cactus pad and a flicker of guarded hope in his eyes. She ruthlessly pushes away any thought about how long he might stay.

It’s not exactly a secret that they’re fucking, despite their shared instinct to be carefully chaste in public, stealing touches only when they’re sure no one can see. By day they run patrols and work on cars, sometimes together but mostly separately, and at night they bolt the door and map out new territory together.

In the beginning, she’d been the one pushing them forward every step of the way. He’d let his own want uncurl slowly, achingly cautious, afraid of overwhelming her. But she wants to be overwhelmed, wants abandon, sensation that drives out thought and focuses the rattling in her head down to two bodies moving together.

She can tell he feels it too. Sometimes they still can’t meet each other’s gaze; it’s like looking into the sun. But his hands are never steadier than when they’re on her skin.

It’s not what she’d expected. She’d expected it to be hard, even painful, despite how much she wanted. But they’d clicked together like two perfectly machined gears and kept moving. There are hitches now and then—often jarring her when she least expects it—but there are new sensations too, heady combinations she hadn’t known she could feel. He can look at her like he wants to devour her and it makes her thrill with desire instead of fear. She can surrender to his touch and feel not weak, but safe.

It all feels fragile and precious, a mirage that could vanish if she stares at it too intently. She tries to keep her head in the moment and not think too far into the future. It works most of the time.

She draws in a deep breath and just the extra movement of her ribcage is enough to wake him. Even when he doesn’t come up swinging, there’s always half a heartbeat of terror in his eyes, a split second before he remembers where he is. But then his gaze latches on to her and the corner of his mouth twitches in a smile.

“Hey,” he mutters sleepily, scooting closer to her on the bed. She smiles back.

“Mm...you’ve got…” He leans over and licks at a spot beneath her jaw, where some of last night’s fluids must still be crusted. His tongue strokes hot and languid along her throat and that’s all it takes for heat to flare up again.

“You too,” she says, lapping at the corner of his mouth, and then he moves slightly and her bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

They kiss slowly, savoring each other, her hand in his hair and his moving in slow sweeps across her back, running up to cup the base of her skull and sliding down to brush against the inch of bare skin where her top rides up. It’s more lazy than heated, but she can feel him getting hard against her lower belly, and her body is responding too. 

She reaches down and gives him a teasing stroke through his shorts. He doesn’t quite groan, just a rough exhale of breath into her mouth. She does it again, a light trace of her fingers up the length of his cock, stopping to rub her thumb over where she can feel the head pressing against his shorts, and this time she gets a guttural noise out of him. “Yeah?” she breathes, their mouths barely parted.

In answer he rolls her onto her back and slides her shorts down, fingers trailing over the ridges of her hipbones on the way. He tugs his own shorts off too, kneeling between her open legs, but he doesn’t touch her.

He goes back to kissing her, tender and deliberately slow, each press of his lips igniting a new spot on her skin. When he leans over his cock brushes against her hip, heavy and hard, leaving a smear of precome on her skin.

In between deliberate kisses he slides her shirt up to expose her breasts, a finger tracing maddeningly soft and slow around a nipple. Her eyes have drifted closed, her hand on his shoulder connecting her to something solid. He still hasn’t touched her pussy—he’s teasing her, teasing both of them—and she squirms, a little moan escaping as he nibbles down her neck.

“Mm. Like the sounds you make,” he mumbles, his mouth at the corner of her lips. The fingers of his other hand suddenly stroke through her labia, a fleeting press into wetness that’s gone before she can arch up against it. She whimpers. “Like that one,” he says.

He shifts to brace himself on one elbow, his hand nudging her thighs wider, and she thinks _finally_ , but all he does is trace a single finger unbearably light and slow along her opening. His mouth wanders down to her breasts, a soft nudge of his tongue against the nipple his fingers had neglected. His wet fingers brush against her clit for just a second before skating away, and she moans in frustration, rocking her hips up in search of his retreating hand.

“Patience,” he murmurs against the skin of her breast, and when she looks down the fucker is _smiling_.

She’s wet—soaked, actually—but he won’t give her what she wants, his fingers skating away every time she bucks her hips up to press against him. His mouth is back on her throat, nibbling at her ear, and his weight is solid on top of her but not so much that she couldn’t flip them, or scramble away, but she has a feeling that’s not the game they’re playing.

Experimentally, she lets her legs relax, stilling the muscles in her hips and simply letting him touch her how he wants.

He immediately rewards her with a slow, firm circuit of his thumb around her clit.

“Smeg,” she hisses when she’s done gasping, and he laughs, because of course that’s the game they’re playing.

It’s not easy to keep from rocking her hips into his touch, and the more he strokes her the more she wants to, tantalizing brushes at her clit and the shallow fuck of a single finger inside her. He knows her body well enough by now to be an agonizing tease, rubbing her clit with exactly the kind of firm, rolling pressure she likes and then backing off to stroke feather-light at her labia before she can come.

She’s vaguely aware that she’s damp with sweat and making all kinds of desperate noises, but if she wanted him to stop, her flesh hand wouldn’t be clutched so tightly around his back.

She has discipline and a certain sense of pride, but she can’t help her hips stuttering up when his teeth scrape along her shoulder. “Mm, something you want?” he inquires blandly, a finger fucking slowly in and out of her.

“Make me come,” she gasps out, and there’s something in her own raw voice that makes her shiver. “Please make me come.”

Her eyes are closed, but she can feel the slow, insistent suck of his mouth on her jawline. “Since you asked nicely.”

His fingers slide into her, two and then three, filling her up while his thumb finds her clit and unerringly settles into the motion that she likes, and it’s such a relief and _so good_ that an obscenely loud moan comes out of her. Max makes an answering hum against her collarbone.

“Like that?”

“Yes, yes, like that,” she gasps out, the rocking of her hips beyond her control now. She can feel him desperately hard and leaking where his cock is pressed against her sweaty thigh, and then she stops being able to pay attention to anything as the wave of pleasure builds and crashes over her, and all she can do is curl tightly around him and hold on.

She comes back to herself slowly, breathing hard and sprawled out on the mattress. Max’s come is splattered across her lower belly; she can’t remember if he was touching himself or if the slide of their sweaty bodies was enough to get him off.

Max is lying on his side next to her, as painted with sweat as she is. He’s watching her with an inscrutable expression.

“What?”

He shakes his head, scoots over to press his damp forehead against hers. He plants a kiss on the bridge of her nose.

“Fool,” she whispers.

After a moment he ducks down and licks most of the come off her, then runs the damp washing cloth over her sticky skin. Her rumpled shirt is still rucked up under her armpits, and she peels it off and tosses it aside.

“Time is it?” she mumbles. She can’t easily see the window from this position, and moving seems an unreliable prospect at the moment.

“Still early yet,” Max says.

“Good,” she says, and snuggles up against him to fall asleep again.


End file.
